


Misc Prompts

by ceria



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mrs. Coulson - Freeform, POV Outsider, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceria/pseuds/ceria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are a few short pieces to put in a few chapters. Each is self contained. See the notes at the beginning of each for details. They're not all Clint/Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Makes You Crazy (Clint/Coulson)

**Author's Note:**

> 'Clint holding a baby and Phil drooling because apparently he likes seeing his partner making dorky faces and being cute.'
> 
> Here's the original picture prompt, because Jeremy and baby! This was long before he had his own little one.  
> http://stellarkindalife.tumblr.com/post/24120334272/non-human-sounds-coming-out-of-my-mouth-right-now

 

He didn't know how to process nights like this; the setting sun reflected orange off the high rises surrounding them and they walked, Clint surveying the crowd, shoulder steady against his so Phil could enjoy the tangerine sky and not pay attention to where they went. They had too few evenings like this: a quiet, enjoyable dinner out with him in a sweater and Clint in a bright t-shirt and both of them in jeans. Patrons had glanced at Clint as though they almost recognized him but Clint ignored all of it, his attention solely for Phil. The bruised rib was almost healed but all the laughter during dinner left Phil uncomfortable.

He heard the young woman in front of them gasp before he saw it. Clint reacted without thought, instantly diving for the stroller that tipped over, catching the startled baby just after the young mother must have tripped. This part of the city was still in disarray from the attack last week.

She whimpered, reaching down to grab her knee, her other hand reaching for her child and Phil was there, a hand on her elbow to steady her. "Hi," he said. "That's Clint and I'm Phil. He won't hurt your daughter, I promise." Phil pointed to a window ledge. "Do you want to sit for a second and I can make sure you didn't twist something?"

"You a doctor?" she asked, glancing between the two men.

"Former field medic," Phil admitted and Clint snickered, scrunching up his face at the baby.

"He's good at it," Clint said, glancing at her. "What's his name?"

"Morgan," she said but didn't clarify which gender was correct; nor did the light green blanket in the stroller help. Clint balanced on one foot and righted the stroller as Phil reached for it, pulling it behind him as he helped her to the ledge. She winced and limped a little but he didn't think it was bad. Kneeling, he looked at her for permission before touching her. She nodded and he gently prodded her leg.

Meanwhile, Clint made sputtering noises that almost sounded like a plane or a train and held Morgan between his large hands, the baby giggling and smiling, small hands reaching for Clint's messy hair. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phil acknowledged it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen concerning Clint -- even better than the baby rabbits Hawkeye had rescued a few weeks ago.

"You have kids?" she asked, glancing between them and Phil shook his head.

"We haven't been together long enough to think about that," Clint said, eyes wide, expression slightly freaked out. It made Phil bust out laughing. He stifled it when Clint glared at him.

The baby fussed a little and Clint turned his attention back to Morgan, swaying back and forth, mumbling under his breath to make him (her?) laugh. Phil almost forgot his offer to someone in order to stare at Clint. He didn't want to look away and miss any of _this_.

She touched Phil's hand and he looked at her. "It does feel better now."

"I don't think you did any damage," Phil said. "I'd suggest some ice on it when you get home, just in case."

"Do you want us to escort you home?" Clint asked in-between the odd noises he was making. He almost looked like he knew what he was doing with the baby. "There's more damage for the next mile. We tore these streets up pretty bad last week."

She caught his use of 'we' and narrowed her eyes to look at him again. Clint grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. 

"I could pay for a cab," Phil said, "if you want. It would be easier than walking."

"It's not your fault I tripped," she said. "I can pay for the cab." She stood up and carefully put weight on her left leg. "It feels a little better now."

Clint spun around, the last of the sunset catching on Morgan's bright outfit and Phil let the smile out, watching the two of them together. "They're pretty cute," she said and he nodded. He had no idea how Clint felt about kids. This made him want to ask.

Sighing, he flagged down a cab for the two of them and Clint played with the baby another second while she folded up the carriage. "Thanks," she said, taking Morgan in her arms.

Sighing, Clint waved goodbye then took Phil's hand as they continued to walk toward home, both of them smiling.


	2. Fear of the Unknown (Clint/Coulson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Clint holding a baby and Phil drooling because apparently he likes seeing his partner making dorky faces and being cute.' (Yes, the same prompt, this chapter with implied MPREG.)

Everything had always been in Clint's file. Phil had known for years that Clint had the _potential_ but probable was not definite. Then they bumped into Clint's old neighbor as they walked through Central Park. Phil couldn't decide which emotion knotted his stomach. Clint's hands overlapped around the baby as he picked her up, the bright outfit garish in the sunlight. 

Children weren't something he wanted; especially with this job and the hours he worked. He'd always thought that he'd end up paying child support for someone he never got to see on a regular basis. So the heavy weight in his stomach had to be dread. Suddenly, 'what ifs' were racing through his brain. 

It didn't matter how adorable Clint's expression was, and how cute it was to watch the baby pull on Clint's lips. It shouldn't make a difference to see this; Clint cooing and smiling freely and swinging an adorable little girl through the air. It didn't put ideas in his head or make him wonder what a little Clint would look like. (Would she have his eyes or Clint's?)

When Clint caught his gaze and smiled that private, half smile at him, Phil couldn't help but return it. He looked so happy. What if Clint wanted kids someday? Phil could imagine watching his abs fade away and stretch around a baby. It would be nightly backrubs and careful sex. He'd be able to rest his head on Clint's protruding stomach and feel her kick. They could go to the doctor and see ultrasounds and listen to the heartbeat of the miracle they created together. 

So maybe the knot wasn't strictly dread. 

The neighbor wandered away, muttering about needing some water, and Clint sat on a ledge, leaning back to let the baby cuddle on his chest, her face turned in to breathe on Clint's neck. "You two look good," Phil whispered.

"Only because she's not my kid," he admitted. "I can't imagine being a parent."

Strange how that didn't reassure Phil like he'd thought it would. "Really?"

"I always thought you'd make a good father," Clint said, blushing bright enough to match his t-shirt. 

"Why's that?" Phil asked, curious. It wasn't something he thought about himself.

"You're patient," Clint said, "and fair. You would never hit a child and I…" he hesitated and glanced away. "I would trust you around kids. My kid."

Phil didn't know what to say. Clint's childhood was also in his files. He leaned over and kissed Clint's cheek, fingers brushing his chest right next to where the baby rested. "I've never considered having kids. But if I ever did, it would be with you."

"Pfft. I'm not sure I want kids either." But Clint's smile was still brighter than the outfit the baby wore. "But I'm glad to hear you say that." He caressed Phil's arm, adjusting her as she wiggled. "I love you, too, Coulson."


	3. Mother Knows Best (Mrs. Coulson & Nick & Clint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I just want crack with Coulson's mom. She knows all about SHIELD because she's an ex-agent, so when she hears that Phil's been injured, she walks into the place like she owns it.
> 
> Bonus points for Tony wondering why she seems so concerned about Clint and her being all "Because I happen to be very fond of my son-in-law, Mr Stark, do you have a problem with that?"
> 
> Extra bonus points if she calls Fury "Nicholas." '
> 
> Background Clint/Coulson

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I'm glad that's over," Tony said, ducking as Steve moved to slap him upside the head. "Knock it off, Rogers."

The distinctive whine of a Marine Harrier cut off any retort Steve might have made. Natasha, Tony and Steve watched the pilot cut the engines and pop the lid as a woman climbed down. Within seconds, twenty armed SHIELD agents were surrounding her, ordering her to remove her helmet.

Natasha swore in Russian and pressed the comlink in her ear, "Hawkeye, rafters. Now."

"Who is that?" Tony asked and Steve shrugged. 

"Who's letting her fly?" Steve asked. She paused, hands on her hips, foot tapping the flight deck as the soldiers surrounding her shifted their weight.

"Oh for Pete's sake," Tony said, making his way toward the elderly woman with short, white hair. 

"Can I help you?" he asked, him and Steve both sliding through the troops just a she demanded to see Director Fury.

She narrowed her eyes and then smiled at him, lips pressed together in an oddly familiar smile. "Mr. Stark, Mr. Rogers. Can you two escort an old woman to the Director, please?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Steve said, "but I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to be here."

"Mr. Rogers, I can assure you, I'm not leaving. I spent ten whole days tracking down this monstrous boat. Do you have any idea how many favors I had to call in just to get its location?" she sighed. "Then another three days to get James to return my calls. Do you believe he thought that he didn't have any rides to spare to get me out here? 

"Young man, I am not leaving without talking to the Director."

Natasha appeared moments later, carrying a small kit with her.

"Miss Romanoff," the woman said, her eyes lighting up with glee. "Is that what I think it is?" She was already rolling up the right sleeve of the flight suit, allowing Natasha to draw blood. Natasha held the kit out for Tony to take with a warning glance toward Steve. Then she dropped the blood into the seven different vials and they waited, watching each of them turn green.

"Satisfied now?" she asked and Natasha nodded once. Then reached out and hugged the woman.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Natasha said and the woman rolled her eyes. 

"What did I tell you about counting the chickens before they hatch, my little spy?"

"It's been two weeks," Natasha said and the woman nodded.

"Exactly. That's thirteen days too long. Nicholas has some things to answer to."

"Natasha?" Steve started and she turned to face both of them, a small smile on her face.

"Tony, Steve, I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Coulson."

"You're his mom?" Tony asked, jumping forward to shake her hand. "Really? And you named him Phil, not Agent? Did he really have a Captain America poster above his bed?"

"Mr. Stark, I suggest you do not disparage my son. I understand you tease out of love, but I'm still in a fragile state. I'm afraid I just might cry if you continue trying to be humorous." Tony opened and closed his mouth, unsure what to say to that.

Natasha covered her mouth to hide her smile and Steve stepped smoothly forward, in front of Tony. "Mrs. Coulson, it's an honor to meet Phil's mother. You raised a good man."

"I truly did, didn't I?" she said, taking Steve's arm. "Can you escort an old woman to Director Fury now that I've proven I'm not a Skrull or a mutant or any other life form discovered since I retired? And while we walk, can we discuss swing music? Did you know Phil dances better than I ever did?"

"What in the world?" Tony whispered and Natasha only shrugged at him. "Have you met her before?"

"Twice," she admitted. 

All of the rubble had been cleared from Command; the techs were installing the last of the new equipment to replace what had been destroyed in the battle.

"You must be Agent Hill," Elizabeth said, shaking Maria's hand. "My son was impressed with your dedication. Now tell me, where is Director Fury?"

"Right here, Elizabeth," he said, sighing as she wrapped her arms around him. 

Maria clapped her hands, "Everyone, break time. Clear the room."

As soon as the room cleared except for the Avengers, Fury and Hill, Elizabeth poked him in the chest – hard.

"Ouch," he muttered. "I'll have you know I was shot there recently."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You're not dead, don't whine. Speaking of, where is my boy?"

"Mrs. Coulson, Phil…" Maria began and Fury cut her off with a shake of his head.

"She doesn't mean him," Fury said and Elizabeth nodded. 

"Nicholas, we'll get to my son in a moment. Clinton, where are you?"

"Here, ma'am," he said, flipping off the rafters and lowering himself via rope to stand by Natasha.

"Oh, my boy," she said, capturing his chin in her hands and tilting his head in all sorts of crazy directions.

"Is she checking his ears for dirt?" Tony asked and Steve elbowed him. Neither of them really wanted her attention back on them, after all.

"Are you well, no lingering effects from that evil man?"

"Natasha recalibrated my head."

"Again," she mumbled and Elizabeth laughed, nodding her thanks to Natasha. 

"As long as he didn't try and shoot my son, he's forgiven." Fury cleared his throat and she just narrowed her eyes at him. Maria, still a little stunned, just watched, much like Steve was doing, half intrigued and half horrified. 

"Are you here to collect…" Clint stopped talking and swallowed and Elizabeth, humming, pulled him into her arms and hugged him tight. 

"Stop fretting, my boy. We're going to have a conversation about that. Right now. Fury, where is my son?"

"Ma'am, as I told Clint…"

"Do not take that tone with me, Nicholas Joseph Fury. It's been thirteen days since you announced him dead and we all know what a dissembler you are. If he was dead, I'd have his remains by now. Or Clint would have found him. Since neither has happened, I want to know where you're hiding him."

"Did you call her?" Maria couldn't help but whisper and Clint shook his head.

"I don't need my son-in-law to call for backup, Agent Hill, he's perfectly capable…"

"Excuse me," Tony said, totally unable to let that go. "I'm sorry, did you just say son-in-law?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark, I did. I'm rather fond of Clint and not only because he was smart enough to catch Phil. Do you have an issue with that?"

"No Ma'am," Steve said, pulling Tony back a step or two. Clint noted that this time Steve didn't step in front of him.

"You knew, didn't you?" Tony whispered to Natasha.

Elizabeth sighed, "She made a lovely best man. You should see the pictures. Actually, if you ever convince Ms. Potts to marry you, I can suggest a wedding coordinator."

"Er, thank you?" Tony said, trembling slightly.

"Elizabeth," Fury said, gaining her focus again. Brave man for that. "Did I hear correctly that you flew here? By yourself?"

"James owed me a favor or three. He was more than willing to trade those for a quick flight."

"You gave up your favors for…"

"I gave them up to show you how serious I am, Nicholas. Now, are you going to tell me where you've hidden Phil – either alive or not – before I ask these nice people to leave you alone with Clint and me? I'm afraid that any more wasted time will not be handled well. If he's truly gone, Clint and I need closure. If he's not dead, then he needs the encouragement only family can give him."

Only Natasha was grinning.

"Fine," Fury said, sighing. "He's at the Cleveland Clinic. Surgery was three days ago because it took that long to stabilize him. He's been in a medical-induced coma since. They're hoping to bring him out of it in another three days."

"Did you expect my son to wake up alone? Without me or Clint there?" She took a step forward and Clint wrapped his arms around her, totally distracting her from attempting to murder Director Fury with a hug and a smile.

"He's alive, Beth. That's all that matters."

Fury frowned. "I thought you didn't like to be called that."

"He's my boy," Elizabeth said, words muffled against Clint's chest. "He can call me whatever he likes."

"I have a jet," Tony said, brave again – or silent for just too long to care. "If you return the Harrier, I can pick you up and we can all go to Cleveland."

"You want to go?" she asked, one raised eyebrow.

"It would mean a lot to us, yes ma'am," Steve said. "Phil is one of ours. We want to be there too."

"I'll go with you too," Fury said and Tony grinned at him, shrugging his shoulders.

"Only if Mrs. Coulson allows it."


	4. Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies (outside pov)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Avengers and SHIELD Agents are dead (yep, really dead, hence the title)
> 
> Outside pov, second person pov & possible allusions to 9/11.

It's never quiet downtown; you learned to accept the low thrum of activity that's going on when you first wake as the most quiet you'll get. 

Except for today. 

It's been almost silent for twenty minutes. That's a long damn time for New York. You haven't heard any more explosions or police blaring over their hand-held loud speakers. Not even a single siren. The last one you heard was twenty-three minutes ago.

Which you only know because your grandmother's clock is ticking softly on the wall - the hand-cranked one that doesn't run on electricity or batteries. He'd laughed at you for keeping it all these years and you're almost tempted to stick your tongue out at Fred's picture on the mantel. You know the one – it's the only one that didn't slide off and break during the explosions. Good ole' Fred.

Standing up with a sigh, you know it's time. It might be late spring outside but you've been in the city long enough to know what happens after these battles. So it's to the closet for sturdy winter boots, a thin scarf to cover your mouth and nose, and warm gloves thick enough to move cement. 

Why stay inside? The radio isn't working, the television is down, and it still seems nothing electrical is quite on yet. Which all makes you think of _The Matrix_ and EMP blasts. Snorting at yourself about whimsical fantasies, you grab the keys and head down the stairs to the street. 

An old man is peering out his window across the way but doesn't come outside. Three doors down, that minister's son is making his way down broken steps. Together, the two of you turn toward Times Square.

The silence is deafening. That's a phrase that never made sense until you moved here. 

"Holy Mother of God," is all you can say as you round the corner. Broken orange cabs litter the intersection. The only people standing are… 

"Where is everyone?" the young man asks and you sorta wish you asked his name before all of this. The manhole cover at your feet scrapes to the side, making both of you jump and then there's a middle-aged man in a business suit smiling sheepishly at you.

"Sorry," he whispers. "It was the first place I thought to take cover."

You both pull him out and push the cover back in place.

"Jeff," the suit says, holding out one hand.

"Nancy," you reply, eyes darting around everywhere but no one is to be found. 

"Steve," the young man says and the three of you continue on your way. (You can't help but wonder if that's a family name, or if one of his parents is a Captain America fan.)

Someone in a fluorescent orange vest is heading toward you, a skewered hardhat on his head. He's carrying a bundle of bright yellow flags and yeah, you've seen those before. Jeff meets him, taking a handful of flags. 

The weirdest thing about all of this? There's no sound of Iron Man flitting above you. Usually there are men and women in suits, interwoven with the police, directing people away from the destruction by now, and Captain America typically is standing on top of some overturned bus or statue already, pointing out trouble spots for the suits and the police. 

You can see the scorched cement, that's usually Iron Man's fault, and the arrows sticking out of all sorts of places from Hawkeye (whom you've never seen because your eyes just aren't that fast). The broken piles of cement, especially the ones ten feet above ground always get credited to that big green creature. Or the pretty one with the hammer. 

Cindy next door usually plays 'name the dollar' amount with you in the aftermath of these battles. It's fun to guess who caused the most – even if normally you don't get this close to the destruction. 

"Where are they?" Steve asks and you nod but don't reply. He's young enough to still believe that people are indestructible but you learned that lesson three years ago; may Fred rest in peace.

"Oh," Steve says as he looks down. Death has been personal with you between your husband and mother but you're still not prepared for this. Now it makes sense why the police cordon off the area so quickly in the past.

He's covering his mouth with a trembling hand so you take one of your flags and wedge it between the broken pieces of cement. There's no need to check for a pulse on this one; her vacant stare and the blood pooling beneath her dark hair tells enough. She's one of the suits though; there's a familiar black eagle above her heart. 

Steve, bless his heart, kneels next to her and whispers what you assume is a prayer. 

More movement from the other streets leading into the square and it's good to know that nothing keeps New Yorkers down for long. No vehicle is moving but there are men in shades of familiar blue coming closer now, riding bicycles of all things. Smart.

The suit you already met, Jeff, is kneeling down so you make your way closer to him. "Who is it?"

"I think it's Hawkeye," he whispers, pointing to the arrows sticking out from beneath the shoulder. He's not alone, there's a gorgeous red-headed woman and a man in a suit next to him. Hawkeye is clutching a bow and both of the other two have guns in their hands. 

Jeff hesitates, but reaches out to close their eyes, careful of the blood staining everything; as if it poured out their nose, mouth, ears, and eyes all at once. You set up another flag. "Thank you for all you've done," you whisper. It's hardly anything but New York is still standing and you're still alive and it feels _right_ to acknowledge that.

"Ma'am, Sir, could you step back please?"

The police have finally caught up and Jeff stands up, shaking his head no. "This is our city too," he says and yes, that's true. Nothing electrical is working – it's not like they can call for backup or take pictures or anything else right now.

"We're going to keep searching for survivors," you say and when the office hesitates, you add, "You'll need the help."

"We have to find five more," you tell Jeff and he shakes his head. There's no need to say which six people you're searching for. 

"Four."

At your confused glance he points at the woman. "She's one of them."

Oh.

"Help," a young girl cries out. "He's still alive!"

You and Jeff scramble over debris to get to the tiny little thing with black hair, braids all askew, who is waving frantically.

It's hard to mistake Steve Rogers for anyone else, even if the bright uniform didn't give it away. His milky eyes try and focus on you and it's obvious he's trying to speak but his jaw looks… almost broken in half.

"They're gone," you say quickly, while his attention is on you. "I don't know who you fought but it looks like they're gone. We're all searching for your team right now."

Jeff reaches out for Steve's hand and you pretend you don't notice how he can't close his fingers around Jeff's palm. He tries and smiles at your good news, until his grip goes totally slack. 

The young girl is sobbing on his other side. It would be nice to sit and cry but not yet. Not yet.

Hours past and you continue to work, taking breaks as people bring in bottled water to drink. It's backbreaking work to sift cement and debris by hand but you stay and do it. Your hands could make all the difference in the world between finding someone alive or not.

Someone brought down bright white sheets. As more bodies are dug out, the sheets are separated into groups. The police are together, the men and women in suits are in another and there are six more sheets set aside, in-between the suits and police. 

All six of them are being used. 

No one knows how to get Tony Stark out of the red and gold suit so no one tries after prying off the faceplate to make sure they couldn't help him. Only one of those sheets is actually a black bag. You didn't see that one but he's one of the Avengers – the big green one. From the whispers carrying on all around, it sounds like they found him in pieces, as if a giant guillotine fell on him. 

Thor was found as well. Unfortunately, they had to leave his hammer where it landed four blocks over. 

No one has seen the shield.

What do you do if there's no one left to step forward and claim the dead? In the end, it's the citizens of New York, you included, who carry them out of the destruction zone and toward a clearing. For all that is known about the Avengers; little is known about their personal life. At least three people in robes from varying clergy kneel in honor of the fallen; the police first, then the suits and the Avengers last. 

You've heard the Recitation of Psalms before. Someone with a voice that could pass for an angel is singing in the background. A man near you says a prayer, or what sounds like one but you can't understand the language, and it's hard to walk away from this when you want to witness every second.

It's been difficult to cling to faith over the last few years. Sometimes you can't even remember if it was your own faith or just being polite to Fred. In the end however, it doesn't matter. 

Because what you see here is all that truly matters; New York coming together to honor the men and woman on the force, or working for the government, or protecting your home with super heroic skills. You can't shoot a bow or fire a gun or fly; but you can stand here in silence and make sure the men and women who died protecting you are honored the best way you know how.

In the end, they made this their home and this is your home. It's claim enough.


	5. Lunch, Post Avengers (Coulson & Sitwell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coulson & Sitwell having lunch, post Avengers but prior to the team finding out Phil is still alive. The prompt was in reference to that cute Marvel short of the two of them eating together.
> 
> Strictly conversation. I know it's difficult to follow.

"Tell me that's not a mission report about your confrontation with Loki that you're writing?"

"Oh, I turned that in yesterday."

"No wonder your Fury's favorite."

"That's better than being his fu…"

"Those rumors stop when you get to Level five, you know that."

"So what are the current level six rumors?"

"They've changed thanks to your _spectacular_ ability to out yourself on quinjets."

"Oh god."

"Hey, you're the one who went, what are the kids calling it? All 'twilight' on Rogers."

"I don't even know what that means."

"I suspect neither of us want to know."

"So tell me some good news?"

"Stark is building a Phil Coulson Memorial on floor two of his tower. Ms. Potts cried over the plans. Hey – why are you scratching that out?"

"You know I think clearer when I plan. I'm deciding who to tell first that I didn't actually die. Well, that I didn't stay dead."

"And now it's not going to be Stark?"

"Wouldn't it be more fitting to wait until the Memorial is done?"

"Only if you want to mock him."

"Mock is such a cruel word. I was thinking more along the lines of letting everyone _else_ tease him."

"Let's see that list. Oh no – you can't tell Rogers first."

"Why not? He's impartial."

"Not after the quinjet, he's not. Telling him first is the wrong public statement, Phil. Why not Agent Romanoff?"

"I'd rather there be witnesses to my living before she finds out and kills me for real."

"Good point. You could always retire and move to Portland."

"Um. About that…"

"I already know that truth, Coulson. I'm not as blind as you wish. So tell me who's next on your list."

"Dr. Banner is pretty neutral."

"Very - and rather indestructible."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"You know as well as I do that if you don't tell Barton first, that it's going to get ugly. Fast. Hmmm. Maybe Fury needs to retire to Portland."

"That's why I was banking on Banner, actually. I hear Fury played his cards right enough that Banner currently likes him."

"Pun intended there?"

"What pun?"

"Oh shit."

"Jasper, what did Fury do?"

"… Nothing?"

"You're a terrible liar for a government agent. What did he do? What pun did I make when I asked if he played his cards… That bastard. Tell me he didn't."

"Phil, you really shouldn't try and get up right now."

"I'm going to kill him."

"I have a better idea."

"What?"

"Make sure Barton finds out last and indicate that Fury suggested it."


	6. Every Day Musings (Natasha & Maria)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Every day the team finds new ways to worry Natasha to bits, be it Tony's experiments which have the tendency to end with explosions, Steve's adjustments etc. Natasha's musing. Sometimes, she thinks it's just easier kill them all so she didn't have to worry about them.'
> 
> Just another day out-to-lunch for Natasha and Maria (okay, not like every other day. Maybe more like once a week musings...) Also, this was written way before AoS so the resemblance is a coincidence.

"I thought I'd never get out of there," Maria said with a deep sigh. Natasha raised one eyebrow and smirked in agreement as she met her at the stairwell door. She held it open for Maria, glancing over her attire.

"Nice dress," Natasha said and Maria grinned at her, the ends of the teal green loose material wrapping around her knees.

"Do you know how lovely it is to be out of something dark blue and form fitted?"

"Well, you said it best five years ago," Natasha replied and Maria tilted her head. "Nick is, at heart, a perv." She herself was wearing a loose, dark pink business suit. Being able to choose something herself that covered the majority of her skin was fun sometimes.

Maria's laughter chased them the rest of the way up the stairs.

"I invited Melinda but Coulson pulled her out on another mission this morning."

"Poor woman," Natasha said. "I fear the teenagers on her team might break her." So the other three weren't really teenagers, they both knew that, but SHIELD seemed to be recruiting too young these days. "At least Phil can keep up with them."

"Speaking of, how goes it between them?" Maria asked and Natasha sighed, blowing out air hard enough to flip her bangs.

"Give me a pair of handcuffs, test tube twenty, a padded room, and I'll make them solve their issues in ten minutes flat."

Maria snorted and shook her head. "So still fighting, are they?"

"Fear does strange things to men," Nat allowed and Maria nodded solemnly in agreement.

The young woman in a pale yellow kimono brought them both iced teas. Maria took a sip, watching the two men at the far end of the bar eye them, trying to figure out if it was worth the effort to approach her and Natasha.

"Sitwell put another hole in the range," Maria told her and it was Natasha's turn to snicker. "He's already gone through his allotment of ammunition for the year. I've signed over half of mine just to keep him sane."

"Maybe he's got the right idea," Natasha admitted, leaning closer to Maria.

"What's that? Kill them all and let God sort it out?"

"Yes," Nat answered and Maria couldn't tell if she was serious or not.

"How?" Because if Natasha seriously meant to kill them, she wouldn't announce it prior to the act -- most likely.

"Poison for Clint," she replied immediately. "Him and Phil both, actually. No one could approach them with a weapon so it would have to be handed to them by a friend."

That was a fast answer, much quicker than Maria had expected.

"Tony?"

"Easy. Add some accelerant to any of the experiments he runs in R&D. He routinely blows something up once a week. There's this interesting test being done…" Natasha lowered her voice. "Well, let's say I saw the specs and there's a sixty-percent chance the armor wouldn't survive that explosion either." Nat stirred her tea. "But I'm not sure how to take out JARVIS. He'd have to go if Tony went."

"Nick has the covered," Maria admitted. "Failsafe plan fifty-nine."

"Good."

"Pepper would be easy – unfortunate, but easier once Tony is gone. She loves him too much and has access to the Stark billions. No one would be safe if she remained behind."

"Hell hath no fury," Maria admitted and they both rolled their eyes. 

"It would after that," Natasha told her. "Speaking of Fury, he couldn't remain alive either. Nick would hunt down whoever took out Phil. To the ends of the earth."

"Jesus, that would be a bloody mess."

"As well as the LMD's that are not officially recorded anywhere – they'd have to go too. Clones of Nick Fury would not be happy."

"Thank god no one can clone Steve," Maria said. "How would you take him out?"

"Not ice or anything else that might preserve his body," she admitted.

"Got a broadsword around anywhere?" Maria asked. 

Natasha tilted her head, curious, "For Steve?"

"Of course. Off with his head," Maria said, imitating the animated movie. Natasha obviously didn't understand the reference.

"I'm not sure any other way to end him," Nat said.

"Thor?"

"Loki. Take him out off-world and Thor would never come back. Not even for Jane, I think."

"Speaking of off-world, what's the word on our other resident scientist?"

It took a long time to answer that question. Natasha almost looked sad when she finally spoke. "Nothing will work as far as I can tell. Best guess is to stash him in a quinjet while he's sleeping, then send it to outer space."

At the very least, the conversation had worked through Natasha's obvious frustrations and left her more relaxed. Maria eyed the two men at the end of the bar again and decided what the hell. She motioned the bartender over and requested drinks for them. They might as well make it a long, and more enjoyable, lunch.


	7. Triple Digits  (Clint/Coulson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint/Coulson, a sleepy middle-of-the-night. I just needed to write something soft and sweet for them, okay?
> 
> second person pov, post AoU and definitely not canon compliant.

It's three am when you wake; the room is almost silent. Nothing should have dragged you from a comforting rest but it did. How often is it that you wake to alarms, or JARVIS and gentle lights that slowly become brighter, newsfeed guiding your steps as you haphazardly pull on the uniform, wipe sleep out of your eyes, try not to trip over untied boot strings, and get to the locker to gather the bow?  
But that is not tonight.

The bedroom would be silent if it wasn't for the snuffling of your bed partner. He's dead to the world (Huh. Since when could you think that without flinching?), flopped over your chest and probably drooling on the sheet, but you can't see through him. 

His hair is getting thinner and it's a little long, the individual strands sticking every which direction. Probably because you both fell asleep running your fingernails through it - Phil loves that and it's a surefire way to get him to relax.

That hasn't been so hard lately; between Avenging and separate missions and too many days apart, you can count the number of times you slept in the same bed since finding each other again. (Hint, until tonight, it's been stuck in double digits.) 

But each time gets a little easier. You're both starting to fall into recognizable patterns. They aren't the same habits as before; neither of you are the same person you were, and your bed isn't the one you two bought together years ago, and this isn't the bedroom you painted four times in one week to find the perfect color. 

It hasn't been easy but is anything worthwhile ever simple? And awkward bedtime rituals in new beds while adjusting sleeping habits to accommodate new scars and older bodies isn't all bad. You'd rather have that than nothing but warm memories and cold sheets. 

Tonight might be the first triple digit night since you came back to each other, but all that means is nine hundred more until you reach four digits, and by then? Well, anything is possible.


End file.
